


The Same Sky

by chibistarlyte



Series: As You Wish [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Epistolary, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibistarlyte/pseuds/chibistarlyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John write letters to each other while John is away, and they develop some feelings along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go, my first attempt at epistolary!fic. This is a continuation in my wish!fic series, so I would recommend that you read the previous two stories before beginning this one! This entire fic is complete and will be split into 12 chapters total, which I will be posting at regular intervals (once or twice a week, I haven't decided yet).
> 
> Many thanks to Aki for being my awesome beta, and many thanks to Laura for Brit-picking this for me and helping me in some research! I do apologize for some artistic liberties I've taken (like sending a pinch of dirt via post) as well as any remaining inaccuracies/Americanisms throughout. 
> 
> Enjoy!

24 November

John,

Forgive me for the admittedly poor quality of this letter. I have not written anything of this nature in a very long time. Not since childhood, if I’m not mistaken. Oftentimes, I only ever bother to write up case notes or formal essays to accompany various experiments I conduct and such.

What do people even talk about in letters?

Detective Sergeant Lestrade came to me with another case the day after you left. Something to do with teenaged girls being abducted for an underground prostitution ring. Nasty business, but I solved it quickly enough. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that all of the girls have been returned safely to their loved ones.

There’s a new undertaker at Bart’s. Her name is Molly Hooper. She’s horribly awkward and fairly easy to coerce into things. I may as well have unrestricted access to the lab nowadays, if all it takes is a compliment to her hair to get her to let me in. I plan to obtain official unrestricted access, but I’m sure that will come in due course. I have a feeling I may have to wait at least until Lestrade is promoted, but with me solving some cases for him, that may be sooner rather than later.

I fear that this letter may be a waste of postage for how short it is. But you’ve asked me to write to you, so I am writing to you.

Hoping this reaches you in a timely fashion.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock Holmes_

 

.

 

11 December

Sherlock,

Your letter arrived to me safely, rest assured! I didn’t get a chance to read it right away, but I opened it as soon as my shift was over. It’s great to hear from you, really.

Things have been mostly quiet here lately. Which is good, all things considered. I mean, it’s a relief that there haven’t been many major injuries to take care of. At the same time, though, I almost feel bored. Like there isn’t enough going on. My shifts tend to drag on without much action and I kind of find myself hoping that _something_ will happen. Does that make me a horrible person? I feel like it does.

Bill Murray makes everything a bit better, though. He’s a nurse, first tour out here. We’re becoming pretty good mates. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. He makes me laugh so much. Though for some reason, he’s taken to calling me Casanova. I could really do without the nickname.

Lestrade was the one I met during my stay with you, right? He was a nice bloke. You have to let me know if/when he gets promoted so you can tell him congratulations for me.

Have you ever thought of writing books about your cases? I mean, after you’ve built up a repertoire and everything. I’m sure people would love to read about them! Think I could ever take a look at your case notes? I’d really like to read them sometime.

I’m knackered, so I think I’m going to end this here. Hopefully I’ll have more to write about next time.

Good luck with your cases, and I hope to hear from you soon!  :)

_John_

P.S. Please, Sherlock, for the love of God, don’t torment Molly Hooper. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to update this fic twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays. I'm just impatient like that!
> 
> Enjoy!

25 December

John,

Seeing as I'm writing you on the 25th of December, I suppose I should take this opportunity to say Merry Christmas.

I received quite possibly the best Christmas present I could ever have gotten. A case! It was Christmas-themed, even. Santa's elves apparently decided to go on a mass-murder spree. More specifically, midgets dressed as elves who worked for a toy company. Motivation? Something about the woes of working in customer service around the holidays. Their targets? Specific customers they had dealt with that were particularly rude. There were five murderers in total, and ten victims in the span of two days. Each had a specific toy they used as the murder weapon. All very simple in the end, but it provided a nice distraction.

It also got me out of Christmas dinner with both Mummy and my brother. That is a Christmas miracle in itself. If I actually believed in such things.

I suppose next time you're here, I can let you look over my case notes. You might actually appreciate them. I'm considering starting up a website, you know. It would mostly be a place to store my various write-ups and experiment results (currently I am identifying all the types of soil around London, it's rather fascinating). It may also be useful to draw in more clients. Unfortunately, the number of cases on which Scotland Yard consults me is extremely limited, and I grow bored with no puzzles to solve. Much like you grow bored without things to keep you busy. I understand that the tedium must get to you sometimes.

I don't have much else to say. I hope you are well.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock Holmes_

.

 

8 January

Sherlock,

Enclosed in this envelope is a pinch of sand from outside the medical tent. Maybe you can compare it with your London soil samples? :)

Sounds like your Christmas was definitely full of adventure! Christmas here was pretty quiet, though more in a peaceful sort of way. I feel thankful for that. I also got a chance to phone Harry, though she passed out half way through our conversation. Too much mulled wine, I think. I got to talk to Clara, too. Sometimes I don't know how she puts up with my sister. I sure can't handle her most times, and I'm her brother.

I guess you probably understand that, though, from your relationship with your family. Not wanting to have Christmas dinner with them? I take it you lot don't get on well, then. Is your brother younger or older than you? What's he like? What's your mother like? Is your father still around?

Both my parents died a few years ago. Car crash. How typical, right? I miss them, some days more than others. They never really approved of me joining the army. I wonder what they'd think of me now. What they'd have to say about my choices. I don't regret joining. I love what I do. But I still sometimes wonder if they would have warmed up to the idea over time, you know?

I'm sorry, that turned really sad there for a mo. How about a change of topic?

Bill is pretty much my best mate here. After working some more with him, I have absolutely nothing bad to say about him. His work ethic is great, he's trustworthy, and we work well as a team. I couldn't ask for a better partner, especially out here tending to patients. Though he does have a knack for pulling pranks, which is something I haven't done much of since uni. Sadly, it's hard to get away with much on a military base without facing pretty dire consequences. Such is life.

Say hello to Lestrade for me!

_John_

P.S. Are you eating enough?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the majority of this fic, including this chapter, was written waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay before series 3 premiered, so the back story of Mrs. Hudson and the mention of Sherlock's parents (well, Mummy) is not canon-compliant for series 3. :D
> 
> Enjoy!

20 February

John,

My apologies for not writing to you in such a long while. I've just returned from America, you see. An elderly woman contacted me about a case. She was incredibly suspicious about her husband as of late; his behavior was odd and changed very drastically very quickly. Becoming secretive and closed off, disappearing at odd hours of the night, that sort of thing. It would raise a red flag to anyone with half a brain. I looked into it, and ended up flying to Florida to help out. Turns out her husband had taken up serial killing in his spare time. He was responsible for four deaths in the city of Miami. I was able to provide adequate proof of his crimes, and he's now behind bars and facing the death sentence.

The woman, a Mrs. Martha Hudson, seems much happier without her husband. Troubled marriage, even before the serial killings started. She has since decided to return to England, and she makes excellent tea.

If I were to describe my brother, the following words would probably suffice as a proper description:

-cunning  
-ruthless  
-insufferable  
-invasive  
-stubborn  
-pretentious  
-fat  
-smarmy  
-omniscient  
-over-protective  
-brilliant  
-lazy  
-opportunistic  
-manipulative  
-annoying

I hope that gives you enough of an idea of how awful Mycroft is. I would say that I hope you never have to meet him, but seeing as our correspondence will most likely be continuing for a long while your meeting him is inevitable. Be ready for it at some point. He doesn't know when to leave me alone and he loves forcing himself into my life in the way older siblings do. He may try to bribe, threaten, or intimidate you into doing favours for him. Consider this your fair warning.

As for Mummy, well. She's getting on in age. As such, she's becoming more outspoken about her displeasures and sees fit to nag and harangue everyone within earshot. The most common complaint she has for both Mycroft and me concerns us settling down and producing grandchildren. I've certainly no intention of ever doing such things, and neither does Mycroft as far as I am aware. I'm afraid Mummy will be most displeased that we'll likely not give her any grandchildren before she dies. But it can't be helped. I suppose she's lonely without my father.

Lestrade has just texted me about another case, so I've got to dash. I hope you are well. Lestrade also says hello.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock_

P.S. The sand was much appreciated. Think you can send me some different samples?

P.P.S. My dietary habits are _fine_ , thank you.

 

.

 

10 March

Sherlock,

Before I say anything else, I've got to tell you that your brother did, in fact, contact me by post. It was a really short letter, but he, uh…threatened me rather thoroughly. Something about making me "disappear" if I harm even one hair on your head.

Seems like a charming chap, your brother.

You are the exact opposite of me as far as future plans. I've always thought that I'd meet someone, settle down, start a family, all that. Being in the army makes that pretty difficult, though, because of me being away so much. There's barely any time to even attempt to start a relationship, let alone cultivate one that's going to last a while. Now that I think about it, Harry always thought I'd get married first. Looks like she's beating me to the altar, if she and Clara actually stay together.

Back in uni, I was a pretty adamant skirt chaser. That carried over through my first year or so in the army, even while I was in India for a short time. My carryings-on earned me the lovely little nickname "Three Continents Watson." Embarrassing, right? Remember how I mentioned earlier that Bill likes to call me Casanova? Apparently I've charmed quite a few of the nurses and soldiers around camp. I don't even mean to do it. It just happens!

But I think it runs in the family. When Harry and I were younger, she used to try and seduce my girlfriends away from me. You'd be surprised how often it actually worked. She had lots of blokes at her heels too, but she swings the other way, obviously. And when she's not drunk, she can put the moves on pretty well and charm people really easily.

Wow, that got kind of weird. I think I'm going to stop now. I hope to hear from you soon!

_John_

P.S. I've managed to get you a pinch of dirt from another part of camp, not so sandy. Enjoy! :)

P.P.S. You'll have to introduce me to Mrs. Hudson. A nice cuppa sounds wonderful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand chapter 4. Nothing too special here.
> 
> My next update will include two chapters, so look forward to that I guess?
> 
> Enjoy!

22 March

John,

Stop me before I kill someone. A very specific someone. I mean it.

The new head of forensics is just begging for me to murder him. Never in my life have I met anyone so idiotic. Not even at uni, and that's saying something.

Every time I even look at him, I can hear my brain cells crying out in agony as they die.

His voice alone makes my eardrums burst and bleed.

How did he ever become head of forensics? The fool has absolutely no idea what he's doing at a crime scene! He takes photos of all the wrong things, doesn't pay attention to detail, contaminates everything with his very presence.

At least Lestrade (Detective Inspector now, I forgot to mention) has enough sense to defer to my good judgment the majority of the time. Otherwise, the Met would be done for.

Anderson also has a horrid habit of cheating on his wife. I don't know which enrages me more: the fact that he's nothing but a filthy adulterer, or the fact that his wife apparently is stupid enough to stay married to him.

The future of humanity is doomed, John. Mark my words.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock_

P.S. Mrs. Hudson wants to meet you when you're on leave next.

P.P.S. Just ignore Mycroft.

 

.

 

6 April

Sherlock,

Please don't tell me you're going to be writing me from prison from now on. Don't. Kill. Anderson. Seriously.

Though now that I think about it, you're more than clever enough to commit murder and get away with it. You'd figure out a way to clear all suspicion and slip right under the radar.

No. No, don't. That's not supposed to be encouragement. I can tell you're thinking about it. Stop it. Forget I said anything.

Bill's on leave at the moment. Just as well, since he'll get to spend his birthday with his girlfriend back home. It's a bit lonely without him here, to be honest. He's my only actual friend out here. Yeah, I chum around with some of the other doctors and nurses, and a few of the soldiers, but we're not much more than coworkers and acquaintances. Good to play cards with, and that's about it. Not much to write home about, if you'll overlook that horrible pun.

Speaking of birthdays, I realised that I never did ask you when _your_ birthday is. When is it?

You know, Sherlock, I actually find it really easy to talk to you. To admit things to you. Even after we met again two years after the first time, and I stayed with you during the last week of my leave, I felt like I could tell you anything. Is this what it's like to have a best friend? :) It's brilliant.

Of course it's okay if the feeling isn't mutual or anything. You're my best friend, even if I'm not yours. Which I can understand if I'm not. Um. Yes.

Write back soon?

_John_

P.S. Tell Mrs Hudson I look forward to meeting her.

P.P.S. Tell Lestrade I said congratulations on his promotion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic, I have done a little bit of research on Camp Bastion and those who are deployed there, and I've read some Sherlock metas about possibly how John's life would have been on base, so this is sort of a culmination of that. That being said, I'm sure there are still huge inaccuracies, for which I apologize for.
> 
> Also, concerning Watson's birthday and the many fan theories of when exactly it is, I decided to go with the theory of his birthday being March 31st (which, coincidentally, happens to be my birthday as well). 
> 
> And the concept of blueys is the basic format of the next mini-chapter. I hope I didn't mess that up a whole lot. .___.
> 
> Enjoy!

19 April

John,

Don't be daft. Of course you're my best friend. As if there's anyone else in my life deserving of that title.

I also must admit something to you. You are a very easy person to talk to. You _listen_. I…

Well.

I appreciate that, John.

Which reminds me, I've started up that website I mentioned a while back. The site address is [thescienceofdeduction.co.uk](thescienceofdeduction.co.uk). I'm not sure if you have much internet access out there, but I've put up some case notes if you're interested, as well as my soil analysis. Just the other day, I had a client come to me with a case because he'd seen my website. Something about an organization who hire only people with red hair. I'll have you look over my case notes yourself, either on the website or on paper. To make a long story short, the organization turned out to be nothing more than a simple scam. Not uncommon these days, but still a worthy distraction for the time being.

Since Lestrade's promotion, they've promoted another officer to take his place. Former PC Sally Donovan, now Sergeant. She's competent, which is more than most members of the homicide division can say. She hasn't taken to me very well. No surprise there. I wish you could have been there for the first time she worked a case Lestrade called me in for. Her facial expressions went from confusion to disbelief to anger to downright sneering in a very short time span. Sometimes it amazes me how expressive people are.

Would you look at that? I'm getting a text from Lestrade. At this point, I'll take any case he has to offer. I'm bored as all get out and Mycroft won't let me alone about visiting Mummy.

I cannot be held accountable for anything untoward happening to Anderson.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock_

P.S. My birthday is of little importance or consequence to me.

P.P.S. It's 6 January.

P.P.P.S. Now you have to tell me yours.

P.P.P.P.S. At the rate these post-scripts are going, they'll be longer than the letter itself.

 

.

 

3 May

Sherlock,

I'll be honest, I get a lot of amenities out here that actual soldiers don't really see a whole lot of during their tours. Most of us doctors are stationed at Camp Bastion, and it's not as barren as you'd think. So yes, I do get internet here. Really, we could email back and forth if we wanted to. I like it this way, though, writing letters. It feels more personal this way, having something handwritten versus typed on a computer (even if your handwriting is hard to read sometimes, haha!). Getting letters in the post is something to look forward to instead of relying on the instant gratification that internet communication gives us.

That being said, if you wanted to switch to email instead of writing letters by hand, I'd be okay with that. :)

I did take a look at your website. If I didn't know you already, I wouldn't believe you could tell where in London someone has been based on the collection of dirt on their shoes. Some of my mates can't believe it, no matter how many times I tell them it's true.

You're amazing, Sherlock.

You know, I've thought about keeping a journal of sorts myself. It'd be nice to have a place to put my thoughts and keep notes on things without dumping them all on someone. Some people say it's therapeutic. Maybe I'll give it a shot. Who knows, maybe I'll even start up an online blog sometime? If only technology didn't repel me more often than not. If anything, it might help my typing skills. Frankly, I'm absolute pants at it (another reason I like writing letters instead of emailing).

I almost want to meet this Anderson git, just to see if he's really as awful as you say he is.

Talk to you soon!

_John_

P.S. My birthday is 31 March.

P.P.S. I like your post-scripts. :)

 

.

 

18 May

John,

Please note the return address on this package. I've moved out of my flat on Montague Street and relocated to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson owns a block of flats there and she's offering me a special deal on rent. She's also much less restrictive than my previous landlord.

Really, it was a _small_ fire. Completely under control. He overreacted.

I don't know if I told you, but before I dropped out of university I was studying for a degree in Chemistry. It's something I've been interested in from a very young age—Mummy bought my first chemistry set for me when I was five years old. It's a strange sort of beauty the way chemical compounds work. Sometimes there's unity. Balance. Stability. Other times, there's chaos. Reactions. Explosions. With further thought and better creative writing skills, I could go on to say that chemistry could stand as an extended metaphor for humanity at large.

Though people usually respond worse to people exploding versus chemicals exploding.

I know exactly the look you'd be giving me if you were here, John. The scorch marks on the walls were minimal. Stop worrying.

Usually I'd find myself saying yes to emailing. It's much less trouble than the post. I like the arrangement we have, though. You can't send gifts through email.

I hope you find the journal to your liking. Leather is a durable and practical material, which made it an obvious choice for the cover and the binding. And black is a neutral colour, and I assume that you favour neutral colours over anything too ostentatious.

Mrs. Hudson also sends her love and hopes you enjoy the cakes. She won't shut up about meeting you, so hurry up and go on leave so you can come home.

Sincerely,

_Sherlock_

P.S. Your handwriting isn't much better. You've got the typical doctor's scrawl. Also, your left-handedness shows from the tilt of your letters and the pressure of the pen tip at certain points.

P.P.S. Lestrade has asked for your permission to send you a letter himself.


	6. Interlude: The Unsent Blueys

John, it only takes two weeks for letters to arrive from the U.K. to Afghanistan, and two weeks in reverse. I've been keeping track of our postal patterns, and I've done research. I haven't heard from you in a month. Have I done something wrong?

Write back,

_Sherlock_

.

 

I still haven't received a letter from you. And I'll have to wait another two days to check for one because tomorrow is Sunday and there's no post on Sundays.

Write back,

_Sherlock_

.

 

It's Sunday. No post on Sundays. Please write back, John. At the very least, tell me if I've offended you.

Write back,

_Sherlock_

.

 

Was it the journal? If it was the journal, I'm sorry. Is there some sort of friend code that says you can't give each other gifts until you've known each other for a set amount of time? If so, that's absolutely ridiculous.

Write back,

_Sherlock_

.

 

It's getting to the end of June and I still haven't heard from you. John Watson, I implore that you write me back. This is getting irritating.

_Sherlock_

.

 

I've checked every single news source I can possibly think of, even hacked into Mycroft's government network (shut up) and I've found that something happened near Camp Bastion. Terrorist cell of some sort, IEDs and kidnappings of local citizens. British and American soldiers wounded.

This has gone from irritating to worrying. Write me back, John.

_Sherlock_

.

 

John Watson, if you are dead, I will kill you.

_Sherlock_

.

 

I can't take this. It's almost July and I still haven't heard from you. Are you all right?

_Sherlock_

.

 

I hate all this worrying. Stop making me worry and write back to me already. Tell me what's going on.

_Sherlock_

.

 

Please, John.

Please tell me you're okay.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, missed my update yesterday. Got busy with stuff. X3
> 
> Enjoy!

17 June

Sherlock,

I'm sorry for the delay of this letter. I got your last one about two weeks ago. But it's been…a bit crazy here lately.

I can't say much about all of this (government secrets and all that), but what I can tell you is that there was a terrorist group that decided to make a move. They attacked a small village, pillaging and kidnapping innocent citizens and setting up explosive devices. I was sent into the field to retrieve those who had been wounded, to bring them back to camp and treat them.

It was terrifying, Sherlock.

Not all of my patients survived, either. I did what I could. But it wasn't enough, in some cases.

There was a mother and her child. They were hurt, and I couldn't

I'm sorry, I can't. Couldn't. Bloody buggering fuck.

That new journal you sent me has really helped. Writing about what's been happening, even if it's for my eyes only, has helped me come to terms with things a little bit. So…thank you. Really, it was very thoughtful of you to get me such a great present. I'm afraid I don't have anything to give you in return, but maybe when I come home on leave, I'll treat you to Chinese. The place we went to the last time I was home. Does that sound good?

Again, I'm sorry for not writing for a while. I hope this finds you in good health.

_John_

P.S. The entire camp is begging me for more of Mrs. Hudson's cakes.

P.P.S. Of course Lestrade can send me letters. It's nice to hear from people.

 

.

 

2 July

John,

I'm very glad to hear from you, and equally glad to know you're all right. Mycroft mentioned something in passing about an issue with terrorists, and I worried a little that you'd been hurt.

I will be honest, John. I'm not good with anything concerning emotions. I've no idea how to offer words of comfort to you, or if they'll even help. So I'm not going to say anything other than I'm glad you've found your new journal useful. But also know that you can write to me about things like that, if you want to. I will probably not respond accordingly, but I will read every word that you decide to write me. Good and bad.

This might be a bad time to bring up the case I just finished up with yesterday. I'll save you from the gory details, but you are more than welcome to look at my notes when you're on leave.

Stay safe, John. There are people here at home that would be devastated if anything happened to you.

Your friend,

_Sherlock_

P.S. I'll have Mrs. Hudson send more cakes next time. Bear in mind that there is a weight limit to packages being sent to Afghanistan, so I'm unsure of how many I'll be able to send at one time.

 

.

 

21 July

Sherlock,

I'm very lucky to have met you, you know that? We met under such random circumstances, only to have coincidence work out in our favour the second time around.

Or maybe it was fate? I don't know. I don't really believe in that kind of stuff, and you'd probably think me an idiot if I did. I don't know what else to call it, though. Either way, I'm so very happy to have met you and become friends. Your letter cheered me up a lot. I got a letter from Greg, too, so that was good. He told me how invaluable you are to him, both as a colleague and as a friend. He's a really nice chap, and he invited me for a pint the next time I'm home. Maybe we could all go together?

As far as my safety goes, you've no need to worry. Aside from the occasional…event, like a few weeks ago, I'm rarely in any danger. The patients are usually brought to us, so I don't go out into the field really. The camp itself is safe, too, so don't worry about me. I'm in a good place. I won't go getting myself killed or anything.

My shift's about to start, so I'm gonna end this here. Hope to hear from you soon. :)

_John_

P.S. Mrs. Hudson is a saint. You're very lucky to have her as a landlady. I'll bet she bakes wonderful things for you all the time.

P.P.S. I'm still dying for a cuppa.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing noteworthy to say about this chapter, except there's some hidden angst under all this humor. Oh dear.
> 
> I'm also realizing that Sherlock isn't so emotionally constipated in this fic series. Huh.
> 
> Enjoy!

5 August

John,

I've been reliably informed that Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and the entire payroll of Scotland Yard would like to know when you and I are getting married.

This is why cases never get solved. People always jump to conclusions, making assumptions about a given situation without taking the time to observe all the facts placed in front of them and come to a sound and logical solution. I've been writing letters to you for close to ten months, and we've spent a week in each other's company. How does that automatically mean we're getting married? I don't understand this faulty leap in logic, John. Save me from the stupidity of the average human.

It wouldn't be so bad if _Mycroft_ weren't asking after you along with everyone else. But I'm certain he's doing it just to mock me somehow. That's how he is. Curse older siblings. I'm sure you can relate, being a younger sibling yourself. The problem with Mycroft is that he's just a lonely old tosspot who gets jealous whenever something good happens to me, and sees fit to tease me endlessly about said thing until I throw him out of the flat. By that time, he resorts to calling me several times a day until I give in. A similar thing happened when I was at uni. I was friends with a man called Victor Trevor, who was in my year. We got on swimmingly, and I never heard the end of it from Mycroft. Eventually Victor and I did drift apart, mainly because of an issue with his father. That's the way it goes, I suppose.

My point being, people are morons and they make absurd assumptions based on little to no evidence.

No wonder Soctland Yard has to keep calling me for help. Half their defenses would never hold up in court without my aid.

But I digress.

As I've said before, if Mycroft bothers you, just ignore him. I wouldn't put it past him to harass you about the nature of our relationship as he does me. Prepare yourself.

Your **FRIEND** ,

_Sherlock_

P.S. As a detective and a logical man, I am of the firm belief that there is no such thing as coincidence. Everything is planned, one way or another. If our meeting happened to be the plan of a greater part of the universe, "destiny" or some predetermined occurrence or what have you, then so be it. We've already made wishes in each other's company, and that is almost as silly a notion as fate. But I'm willing to accept this possible reasoning for our meeting and eventual friendship. After all, once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

P.P.S. That being said, I…also consider myself very lucky to have met you, John Watson.

P.P.P.S. I've stowed as many cakes as I could into this package. Mrs. Hudson sends her love.

P.P.P.P.S. Who is Greg?

 

.

 

20 August

Sherlock,

I can't stop laughing! Seriously! I keep getting the same exact shit from my mates around camp! Not even joking, Bill asked me yesterday if we've set a date. I keep trying to tell him, and everyone else, that we aren't _like that_ , but no one seems to believe me.

Thankfully, your brother hasn't come calling yet. There's still time for that, though.

I just hope he leaves me alone when I come home. I want to spend my time enjoying myself and seeing you. I dread ever meeting Mycroft in person. If he's just as threatening and intimidating in real life as he is on paper, then…I've got to hand it to you, Sherlock, you've come out all right after dealing with that your whole life. I may complain about Harry, but at least she's never threatened to make my mates "disappear."

I'm starting to get restless. Only a couple more months until I get to come home for an entire month. The way it's shaping out, I'll be home for Christmas for the first time in a while. I'm actually excited this time around, because I have something to look forward to. I can't wait to see you. I still don't know where I'll be staying, exactly. I haven't talked to Harry about it, though I'm not sure she'll want me around considering I pretty much abandoned her last time.

I don't regret it, though. Not one bit. :)

If you'll have me, I'd love to accompany you on some more cases. I had such a blast last time. I really hope we can do it again!

Oh, and Chinese. I still owe you for my journal.

November needs to come now.

Your assumed fiancé (I'm sorry, I had to),

_John_

P.S. You can't be serious. You know, Greg Lestrade, the man who consults you on cases?

P.P.S. Give Mrs. Hudson my love and thanks for the cakes. I'm itching with anticipation to actually meet her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, missed my update day again. Just goes to show you that I can't stick to a schedule to save my life, even when the fic is already finished. .__.
> 
> Two more updates after this--Wednesday with two chapters, and then on Sunday with the final chapter. After this, there are three main stories still in progress for this series. Plus any sidefics I feel like writing. -shrug-
> 
> Enjoy!

7 September

John,

Don't be an idiot. Of course you have a place to stay. I've an extra bedroom in my flat now, so you don't even have to sleep on the sofa this time (though admittedly, this new sofa is quite comfortable). I'll have to move some things around before you come, but yes, I've plenty of room for you. Mrs. Hudson keeps pestering me about the mess, and she's insisting that she'll have dinner waiting for you when you arrive. I've expressed to her many times that I still don't know when exactly you are coming home, but she's as tenacious as ever with this.

Is there a way you can contact me with all of your flight information and such once you receive it? I would very much like to pick you up at the airport when you arrive home.

I'm afraid there isn't much to write about this time; there's been a dreadful lull in cases recently and I've all but destroyed my kitchen trying to keep myself occupied with experiments. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson is much more lenient than my previous landlord, though she still nags me to death about the chemical burns on the tile and the stench of sulfur (which isn't so bad once you've gotten used to it). I have started up a study in tobacco ash, however. There are numerous types of ash depending on the brand of cigarette, the strength of the flavour, the nature of the tobacco mixture itself, filter versus non-filter cigarettes, and so on. It's all fascinating, really. And it's giving me an excuse to smoke. Lestrade keeps trying to get me on the nicotine patches that he uses; he swears up and down that they help, but I've yet to try them for myself.

Hurry up and come home. I would be delighted to have you around on cases.

Yours,

_Sherlock_

P.S. It has honestly never occurred to me that Lestrade had a name other than his surname.

P.P.S. Shut up. I know you're laughing at me.

 

.

 

29 September

Sherlock,

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but the sky is really beautiful out here. It's not like London, where there's so much light pollution you can barely see what's up there. No, here it's different. Vast. Endless. Humbling. I try to make a wish on the first star I see every night. Sometimes I miss nightfall from being on shift in the med tent, though.

I have a hard time dealing with my loneliness out here. I've always been mostly alone in everything I do. My parents didn't support me as much as I would have liked, Harry and I never got on (and still don't much now either). Most of the friends I'd made over the years were more like acquaintances. Superficial friends that just so happened to be taking the same courses as me, or the blokes from the rugby team I played for at uni. I thought joining up with the army would help ease that loneliness of not having anyone really close to me. But it's still the same emptiness I felt back in England. I have friends here, but it doesn't really help. I'm still pretty much on my own, and being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere on foreign land, that fact hits me hard when I least expect it to.

But then I look up at the sky and I think, is it really that bad? I look up at the sky and remember that, even though we're miles and time zones apart, you're under the same sky as me. When I think about that, I don't feel as lonely.

I'm sorry for such extreme sentimentality in this letter. It's just been a very bad week.

It's not often I find myself wishing I were back in London, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It makes no sense. I mean, I do have more of an emotional connection to London than I do for my hometown of Edinburgh, but even then, there'd never really been anything tethering me there. Nothing of importance. I guess now that there's something there I actually miss, I'm almost desperate to get back. It's really stupid to admit that, especially because I've made such a commitment to the army. I can't just leave, you know? This is my job. My duty. I can't abandon that just because I'm so bloody indecisive about what I want.

If you've made it this far through my rambling, congratulations. And thank you.

Hoping to hear from you soon.

_John_

~~P.S. Remember the night we met, how I made a wish at that fountain?~~

Never mind, it's stupid. Forget I said anything.


	10. Interlude: John's Journal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update today. Woot!
> 
> Enjoy!

God help me, I think I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes.

It sounds crazy even now, writing it in this journal that no one but me will ever see. It's all a bit ridiculous. I feel a lot like a teenage girl writing about her crush in her diary or something.

As Sherlock pointed out in one of his letters, we've only been writing each other for ten or eleven months, and we only spent a week together before I came back here to Afghanistan. That isn't near enough interaction to develop feelings for someone.

Is it?

But I can't help it. He's just so amazing. That brain of his, Jesus Christ…from the first time we met almost three years ago now, I've been awed by his brilliance. I remember being dumbfounded by it at first. How could he have possibly known all that about me just from one look? But it was true. It was all true. And I couldn't help but think about him almost every day since. Every time I came home from being deployed, I went back to that fountain in Regent's Park with some insane hope that I would meet Sherlock again.

And I did.

I met him again and he was just as amazing as before. Even more so after we chatted over dinner, and he invited me to stay at his flat.

For the record, I never intended to just up and leave Harry and Clara like that. But with my and Harry's relationship being rocky our entire lives, and not wanting to deal with her and Clara fighting all the time, I just wanted to get out. And Sherlock provided me an escape. Going on a case with him was the most fun I've ever had in my entire life. Nothing can compare to the tingling rush of chasing after a criminal, or the breath of relief and satisfaction when you finally catch the guy and solve the case. It was only the one time, but I would trade anything to live that kind of lifestyle every day.

To be by Sherlock's side every day. Even just as a friend.

I can't ever tell him how I feel about him. From the way he reacted to the teasing about us, he obviously doesn't feel the same way. I don't want to destroy what we have going so far just because I can't keep my heart in check like Sherlock seems to do so effortlessly. Being able to detach myself emotionally would make this easier, I think. It would make my job easier, too. I have a hard time with it sometimes, not being able to save everyone. I need to grow tougher skin. I need to not be so…soft.

But the fact of the matter is, I love Sherlock Holmes.

And there's nothing I can do about it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this...ahhh, I'm excited.

22 October

John,

I did some research and have drawn out two constellation maps: one of which should be the constellations you can see from Afghanistan, and the other which is the constellations I would be seeing from London if not for the light pollution. Astronomy is not my best subject, and there are likely many glaring inaccuracies, but I…hope they help you feel better.

I know you've told me that if you tell someone what you wish for, it won't come true. But I'm going to ask this anyway; what do you wish for, when you see the first stars come out at night?

Regarding this whole wish business, are we allowed to divulge what we've wished for in the past if said wishes have already come true? If that's the case, it's not as if telling someone about the wish(es) after the fact could reverse its effects, could it?

Look at what you've done to me, John. Here I am trying to apply logical thought to something as illogical as wishes. Though I've never forgotten what you told me, that first night we met almost three years ago. You told me that wishes could be similar to goals. Things we aspire to achieve, things that we set out to do. If I think about them in that respect, wishes don't seem as illogical as I've made them out to be.

That night, after you finished your cigarette and left, I made a wish myself. I'll tell you what I wished for, if you tell me what you wished for. I think that is a fair trade, yes?

Yours,

_Sherlock_

P.S. You changed my life that night, John. I thought you ought to know that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter of this fic. There will still be four more fics in this series, so if you've enjoyed these first three, stay tuned for more!
> 
> I'd like to take this moment and thank everyone who has commented/bookmarked/left kudos for this fic. Seriously, it means so much to me that people actually enjoy my stories. You guys are all amazing. <3
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Sherlock groaned as he heard his phone buzzing from where he'd left it on the floor by the fireplace. He was in the middle of a perfectly good sulk, thank you very much, and was not keen on answering the phone for anyone. He'd already dealt with Mycroft for longer than necessary that morning, and he was in no mood to put up with anyone else, clients or otherwise. Yet as his phone kept going off, Sherlock slid off the sofa in annoyance and padded over to pick it up. At least if he answered it, it would stop ringing on and on.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered coolly as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Heh, you sound so professional answering like that," came a teasing voice. A familiar voice.

A voice he hadn't heard in almost a year, except for in the recesses of his mind.

Sherlock's stomach dropped to his toes.

"John?"

"Hi, Sherlock," John said. Sherlock could practically hear the smile in John's voice and couldn't help the smile that nearly broke his own face in two. "How are you?"

_Wonderful now that I'm talking to you_ , Sherlock mused with a giddiness usually reserved for the really good cases. Instead, what he said was, "I'm well, thank you, if a little bored. And yourself?"

"Pretty good. It was a quiet day today; I just finished my shift."

"Ah, good. That's good." Sherlock swallowed hard and started pacing around the living room. He had no idea what to say now, with John right on the other end of the phone line. Words had come so easily to him when he'd been writing letters to John, but now that he was actually speaking with the man, his mind was drawing a total blank! He felt like a complete imbecile.

Thankfully, John took the reins and steered their conversation in a different direction. "I don't have much time to stay on the phone, but I wanted to ring you and give you all my flight information. I'm due home next week," John said, and Sherlock heard the faint rustling of papers in the background.

This was it. In a week's time, he was going to see John again, after a year of communicating solely on paper. He was going to be able to look at John, to hear his voice and match it with his face, watch and study his every expression and various aspects of his body language and stow it all away in his mind palace for when John would have to leave again. Sherlock had to remind himself first to breathe, second to actually respond to what John had just told him. "Oh, right. That." He cleared his throat. "When are you flying in?"

So John gave Sherlock all the details concerning his trip back home—his flight number, what day he was due to arrive, the departure and arrival times of his flight, and so forth. Sherlock didn't bother writing it all down, because with the way he kept repeating the information to himself, there was no way he was going to forget any of it. He fell completely silent and just listened to John talk, nearly losing himself in the sound of the man's voice through the static of the phone. He missed this…missed hearing John's voice.

Next week, he told himself. Next week he'd be able to hear it in person again, and every day after that for a whole month.

"Well, I've got to get going. Other gents need to use the phone now," John said, sounding rather disappointed that their conversation had to be cut so short.

"Right. Well. I…," again, Sherlock cleared his throat. Why was it so hard to speak? "I suppose I will see you next week."

"You suppose right, then," John said with a bit of humor. The two lapsed into silence for a few long moments, much like the previous year when Sherlock had accompanied John to the airport the day he left.

"I hope you have a safe flight home, John," he said finally, trying to prolong this goodbye as much as he could.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Don't burn down your flat before I get there, all right?"

"I make no promises," Sherlock said in mock seriousness, and John's laughter elicited a few chuckles from Sherlock in turn.

"Well…be seeing you," John said.

"Wait, John!" Sherlock cried into his phone before John had a chance to hang up.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"You received my last letter, yes? The one dated the twenty-second of October?"

"Mhm. I got it," John affirmed. Sherlock imagined him giving a single nod.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock plowed forward before reason could intervene. "That night we met…what did you wish for?"

There was a long pause on the other end, and for a second Sherlock feared that the phone had cut out and he'd lost John. But there was the light sound of a sigh on the other end, and Sherlock clenched his phone tight, waiting for an answer.

"I'll tell you when I get there," John said at long last. "And you have to tell me yours, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Sherlock said.

"Good. See you next week then, Sherlock."

"Until next week, John."

With that, the line went dead on the other end. Sherlock hung up his phone and collapsed onto the sofa, positively thrumming with silent laughter that grew louder and louder over the course of a few minutes.

Finally, _finally_ , John was coming home.


End file.
